Netflix and No Chill

Earlier today,
while in the middle
of a WhatsApp conversation with friends
about a movie
and about what percentage
of a fiction-reality concoction seemed fine,
I remembered watching films at Forum,
and how I missed a movie theatre,
the glare from the guy in front
because I could not keep my feet to myself
and grazed his seat,
my OCD-level annoyance with whispers
that to me were pinpricks in the ear
– they must have been whispers –
and the times I ensured I shrank back enough
so that random dude would move to his seat
without my knees saying hello to the Coke he carried.

I don’t know
if those times were better or worse than now
but they had some edge-of-the-seat moments
and not all could be credited to the screen.

Now, I Netflix through movies
like they were books on a shelf
moving the slider like I were flicking pages.
I give a film thirty minutes
to wow me
or for my patience to run out
and I click on the back button.
Perhaps, I have too much power.
Perhaps, I love the movie version of a speedread.
Perhaps, I am too fickle.

Perhaps, I always was.
The remote only pulled back the curtain.

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